Page 59 of The Love Interest
“Okay. Want a drink?” She lets her coat slide off her, to the floor.
“No.” I pick up her coat and fold it over the back of a chair.
“Okay. I’m going to my room.”
I follow her into her room and then shut the door. The lights are off. She’s headed for her bed, but I grab her arm and pull her to me, push her up against the back of the door. She gasps, and I keep hold of that arm, grasping her face with my other hand. “Goddammit, Fiona, what are you doing to me?”
“Whatever you want.” She pulls my coat off and tosses it somewhere.
“I want you to leave me alone.”
“No, you don’t. That’s not what I want either.”
I kiss her. She’s right, but I kiss her mouth to shut her up. Her lips are so fucking soft, and her tongue tastes like beer and youth and a future that I want. Everything about her is welcoming me inside, even though I’m being a total dick to her.
I tear my mouth away from hers and grip her hips with both hands, the way I know she likes it. “You need to get off? Is that what you want—more than anything?”
“Yes.” She’s hiking up her skirt again. Little minx.
“You want me to get you off?”
“Yes.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Ineedyou to get me off, Emmett.”
“If I do that, one time, will you start behaving yourself again?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I want to get you off too.”
Fucking hell.
I grab her ass with one hand and reach down between her legs with the other. Her panties are so wet. There is so much heat radiating off her, and I want to feel her bare skin all over mine. “You’re making my life a living hell.”
“It was already a living hell.” She places her hand on mine and slowly guides it inside her panties. “Let me show you heaven,” she whispers in my ear.
She gets a C for cliché dialogue, an A for delivery, and an F for fucking with the teacher.
Butfuckshe feels good. Everything is warm and wet and swollen and responding to my every movement. I’m pressing and circling my fingers flat against her clit as she tilts her pelvis toward me.
“Emmett…”
She clings to my shoulders. We can’t even kiss because the intensity of this moment—this need to get her off with my fingers—is all either of us can handle. She needs this, and I need her to need it, and I want her to get off, and I want to be the one who does this for her.
She’s already shuddering and squeezing her thighs together and bucking up against my hand. She’s been on the brink for months, just like I have, and it feels good. This beautiful woman needs me and wants me, and it feels so fucking good to be with her like this.
I slide two fingers along both sides of her clit, up and down, up and down. She tenses up and cries out and holds her breath, wrapping her arms around my neck, pressing her tits against my chest. Her head drops back, and she is all breaths and sighs and agony and ecstasy. Wetter and wetter. I don’t know how she can be this wet for me, but I love it.
“Goddammit, Fiona, you are the hottest woman I’ve ever known.” It’s true, and I don’t even feel guilty saying it out loud.
